


Mireille's Secret

by mireille08



Category: The Eight - Katherine Neville
Genre: Gen, Montglane Abbey, Montglane Service
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 03:01:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15233886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mireille08/pseuds/mireille08
Summary: I was surprised not to see more fan fiction based on The Eight, which is one of my favorite books. This is a story I wrote several years ago. It goes contrary to some of the "facts" of the novel. Mireille returns to Montglane Abbey after traveling to England and tells her adventures to a young woman studying there. It shows how she felt about her actions in July 1793.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: This story goes contrary to some of the "facts" of The Eight. I have Mireille return to Montglane in 1795, after she travels to England, but before her journey to Russia. The narrator is a character I invented, a young woman who lost her family in the Terror in Paris and who has gone to Montglane to retreat from the world.
> 
> It was originally published on fanfiction.net.

In these pages I, Sara Pelletier, student at Montglane Abbey, give a faithful account of the legendary Montglane Service and of Mireille, the extraordinary young woman sworn to protect it against the forces of evil.

I first arrived at Montglane Abbey in 1795, after my parents and brothers were guillotined in Paris during the Terror. I have no desire to relate the details of my journey, which was long and arduous. And I had no wish to become a nun. I had lost any faith I might have had after what happened to my family. No, I only wished to bury myself in books, and Montglane was the place to do it. My mother had been a novice there as a young girl, before her parents changed their plans for her and decided to marry her off instead. She had often spoken of it as a beautiful place in the Pyrenees, where one could go to lose oneself in study. That was exactly what I needed at the time. When I arrived, I had vaguely heard of the legendary chess set that had been buried there for centuries, but I dismissed the stories as legends, and I had no idea of the powerful secret the chess set contained.

Upon my arrival, I met a young, red-haired woman, tall, with a sturdy frame, who looked more like a farmgirl than a nun. Her name was Mireille de Remy. She was a few years younger than me: 20 to my 23. Mireille had once been a novice at Montglane, but had left in extraordinary circumstances with her cousin Valentine, also a novice, in 1790, and only recently returned. When I first met her, I had no idea of all the adventures she had been through in the intervening years, but I was soon to find out.

Mireille and I were often in each other's company, since we were the only ones at Montglane who were not nuns or novices. I asked her why she didn't want to be a novice any more, and she told me she had fallen in love with Talleyrand and had given birth to a son by him. I, who had been in love myself once, although it ended tragically, understood very well, and I was glad the nuns didn't judge her harshly for having a child out of wedlock. In fact, everyone at Montglane seemed to be extremely proud of her, and after she told me of her adventures, I knew why.

I remember the day she began to tell me her story. We were sitting in the library of Montglane. She was looking at a copy of Herodotus which she often carried with her, and she had stacks of books about alchemy piled up around her. I noticed she was reading about what is today Algeria. When I asked her about it, she said she had been there.

"You've been to Algeria? By yourself?" I asked.

"Not entirely. I have a friend named Shahin. He's a Tuareg, one of the famous Blue Men of the desert. He was my guide in the desert, and I could never have survived without him."

"What were you doing in the desert?"

Her green eyes lit up like flames. "Have you ever heard of the Montglane Service?"

"The chess set that supposedly belonged to Charlemagne? But that's just a legend! No one believes those stories now."

"The Montglane Service is all too real. I've touched it with my own hands! It contains a formula so powerful that whoever solves it can rule the world. My cousin Valentine, who I loved like a sister, was murdered for those pieces. And, ever since, I have been searching for the secret of the Montglane Service. The key to that secret lies in Algeria. I probably should not speak of this to anyone who is not in the Game, but you are my friend and I know I can trust you. Let me tell you what has happened to me since 1790, when Valentine and I left Montglane."

"I'm honored that you can trust me with such a secret."

"My cousin and I left for Paris when we learned of the great danger to the Montglane Service. The Abbess, who, as you know, is no longer here, sent us to live with Valentine's uncle, the painter Jacques-Louis David."

"The greatest painter in France! I didn't know he was your uncle."

"Valentine's, not mine. Like you, he didn't believe in the Montglane Service at first, but, tragically, he was soon to learn how mistaken he was. It was at his house that we met Talleyrand. Valentine and I both fell in love with him."

Her face fell, and I saw her eyes fill with tears. "You know Valentine was murdered."

"Yes, you told me that before. For those pieces, you said. But who murdered her?"

Her voice broke, and she could barely speak the name. "Marat! In the prison massacres in 1792. She was beheaded before my very eyes, after he had promised to let her go." Then she murmured, "Your family was guillotined in the Terror. You understand, too, what it's like to lose someone you love."

I nodded as I took her hand in mine. "Marat was a monster," I said. "It was Robespierre who sent my family to the guillotine, but I've always hated Marat. What a loathsome man! I was glad when Charlotte Corday killed him."

I saw Mireille breathe a sigh of relief. At the time, I didn't know the significance of that, but I was soon to find out. Then she continued, "I left eight pieces of the Montglane Service with Talleyrand, who was going to England. I didn't know yet that I was carrying his child. I left Paris disguised as a boy, and then I met the future General Bonaparte. I'm sure you've heard of him."

"Yes, he's certainly made a name for himself recently."

"And will continue to in the future, no doubt. He and his sister Elisa, who is close to my age, took me to their home in Corsica. Elisa became my friend. Their mother told me much about the Montglane Service, but not all I needed to know. Then a rebellion in Corsica forced me to flee to Algeria, where I had originally intended to go before I met the Bonapartes. When I arrived there, I met Shahin, who was a friend of the Bonaparte family."

I was amazed by Mireille's adventures in the desert, wandering across the Sahara and climbing mountains, especially when she was pregnant with Talleyrand's child all that time. Shahin had taught her to train a falcon. Then she gave birth to her son, on top of a mountain, by the ancient painting of the White Queen, a powerful figure that had existed for thousands of years. She named her son Charlot.

"Where is your son now?" I asked.

"In the desert, with Shahin's family. He's two years old now, and extremely intelligent. It broke my heart to have to leave him, but Shahin insisted that he stay. Shahin's people consider Charlot some kind of prophet, and he has to stay with them, to learn what he has to learn. But I will come back for him soon. Shahin promised that he and Charlot will follow me on my quest."

"When did you leave Algeria?"

I was surprised to see Mireille shudder, as if she were afraid to tell me something. "In July of 1793," she said, her voice breaking. I was puzzled. Something was upsetting her, but I couldn't imagine what. What could possibly be worse than seeing her beloved cousin murdered before her eyes?

"I didn't stay long," was all she said about that time. "I returned to the desert, and then, six months, later, I went to England with my son and Shahin. I was hoping to find Talleyrand there, but he had already left for America. Instead, I met Boswell, Wordsworth, and Blake. And Philidor, the great chess master and composer. Have you heard of him?"

I nodded. "I remember seeing his opera Tom Jones in Paris."

"Valentine and I were there! You must have been at the same performance, and we didn't know it."

"All those great minds! It's incredible you've met all these people."

"Boswell is evil," said Mireille. "He's on the other side-the White team. I'm on the Black team. And I have reason to believe Philidor is also on the White team, even though I admire him very much as a composer and the greatest chess player in the world."

"Do you play chess?" I asked.

"Not very well. Do you?"

I laughed. Was that the only thing Mireille couldn't do? "Not very well, either. What were Wordsworth and Blake like?"

Mireille smiled. "Wordsworth is very handsome. I think I could almost have loved him, if I hadn't met Talleyrand first. And Blake will help me get permission to see Newton's papers when I return to England. Newton discovered at least part of the secret of the Montglane Service. I know it has something to do with alchemy."

"And that's why you're always looking at those books on alchemy."

She nodded. "After I left England, I had to come back to Montglane. Not only because of these books, but because I needed to get away from my quest for a while. Montglane is so beautiful, and it's the perfect place to study, as I'm sure you know," she said with a smile. "But I won't be able to stay here much longer. The quest is too important."

"Where will you go next?"

"First to the desert, for my son and Shahin. Then to Russia, because I have reason to believe the Abbess is there, in great danger, possibly even in prison. I have to rescue her. Then I will return to England and read Newton's papers."

I had never met the Abbess of Montglane, but my mother had. Everyone who knew her spoke of her with great respect and admiration. She had brought Mireille and Valentine up since they were seven years old and lost their parents to a plague.

I was thrilled by Mireille's story of her adventures. But as I was soon to learn, there was one important thing she hadn't told me.


	2. Chapter 2

My friendship with Mireille deepened after she told me about her adventures. We would often go for long walks in the Pyrenees when the weather was fine. It was late spring, before the heat of summer had set in, and the weather was perfect for walking. I was never very good at climbing, but Mireille always helped me. She was a natural climber. And when we were out for our walks, I discovered that she could paint very well. She often carried a sketchpad and charcoal sticks with her, and when we returned to Montglane, she painted beautiful landscapes of the Pyrenees based on her sketches.

"How did you learn to paint so well?" I asked.

"From Jacques-Louis David," she replied. Of course! I felt stupid. She had been the ward of the greatest painter in France, after all. But it was interesting that she had the talent for painting, even though she wasn't a blood relative of his.

"Could Valentine paint?"

She shook her head. "Perhaps she could, but she was too lazy to learn. I loved her more than anything in the world, but I'm not blind to her faults, after all. No, she never cared much about learning. She always wanted romance and excitement. But if she'd had the inclination, she probably could have learned. She was the one who was David's niece, after all." Her eyes filled with tears.

I put an arm around her. "Mireille, I'm so sorry. I know it hurts to talk about her."

"No, it helps. I like to talk about her with you. After all, you lost your family, too."

On the days when it was too rainy to walk in the Pyrenees, we spent time in the library of Montglane, where I discovered yet another of Mireille's talents: she knew several languages. I asked her how many she knew, and she said, "Well, besides French, of course, I know English, Latin, Arabic, Kabyle, and Occitan, and I'm beginning to learn Russian, because, as I've told you, I will probably have to go to Russia soon to rescue the Abbess."

"That's amazing! I only know a little English and Latin, besides French. How did you learn all that? I assume Shahin taught you Arabic."

"Yes, and Kabyle, the language of his people."

"What about Occitan? I assume you spoke it when your parents were still alive?"

"Yes, we lived not far from here, and, as you know, most of the people around here speak Occitan as their first language and they only learn French later. It was the same with me. Mireille is an Occitan name, after all."

I nodded. I had never heard it before, until I met her.

"Do you remember your parents very well?"

"Not really. I was only seven when they died. Sara, I know it's horrible you lost your parents the way you did, but at least you remember them. I wish I could. All I can remember is that they loved me very much. And I think they knew about the Game. That's why they sent me to Montglane, so the Abbess could protect me. The Abbess encouraged me to continue speaking Occitan after my parents died, so I wouldn't forget it. Would you like to learn it?"

"Yes, but I'd like to learn Arabic even more."

"Then I'll teach you. We can begin today."

And so Mireille started teaching me Arabic, but I soon discovered I was not nearly as good at languages as Mireille. She had learned Arabic in four months, but I knew it was going to take me much longer. I was glad she was patient with me.

It was around this time that I first learned Mireille had a secret: something she hadn't told me in the long tale of her adventures. I first became aware of it one night when I was lying in my bed in the novices' dormitory, unable to sleep because I kept thinking of what happened to my family during the Terror. Even though I wasn't a novice, I had a bed in their dormitory because there was nowhere else for me to sleep. Mireille slept there, too, but that night she was sound asleep. I heard the three youngest novices, Therese, Angelique, and Ursuline, whispering among themselves, no doubt thinking I was asleep. "Does Sara know Mireille's secret?" asked Therese.

"Probably. They're always talking together," said Angelique.

"I don't know," said Ursuline. "Mireille doesn't like to talk about it, even to us, and we've known all along."

"But Sara seems to be her special confidante," said Angelique. "And would it even matter? We never minded, so why should she?"

"You're right," said Therese. "Either she knows and doesn't care, or she doesn't know, and if she ever found out, I'm sure it wouldn't change Sara's opinion of her."

"It's none of our business, anyway," said Angelique. And they said nothing more of it.

They raised my curiosity, though. I couldn't think of anything Mireille could be hiding except the fact that she read romances. I saw her reading a copy of a popular romance novel called Paul et Virginie one night when she thought I wasn't looking. She quickly put it away when she saw me come into the dormitory, probably thinking it would lessen my opinion of her if I knew she was reading something other than the serious books she read in the library. I don't think she knew I'd seen the cover before she put the book away. It was certainly nothing to be ashamed of, though. I had read, and enjoyed, the same book. So had more than half the novices, I suspected. But this secret they spoke of sounded like something that might make me think less of Mireille if I knew about it.

But I admit I didn't set too much store in their comments at the time. If Mireille had something she wasn't telling me, I decided, she must have her reasons. I didn't think about it again until some time later.

I noticed that Mireille seemed very sad at times, but I thought it was because of Valentine. I wondered at first if it was possible that Mireille loved Valentine in the way that women did, who loved other women. I had seen plenty of that kind of thing in Paris, and I even knew it to be true of some of the nuns and novices at Montglane. But no, that couldn't be, I decided. Valentine had been like a sister to Mireille, not a lover. And everything I knew about Mireille told me she was attracted to men, not women. She and Valentine had both been in love with Talleyrand, and Mireille had had a child by him, after all. No, Mireille was just very upset over the death of the girl she had loved like a sister, I thought.

Then one day, in the middle of an Arabic lesson, she broke down and cried when she was teaching me the word for "to kill."

"What's the matter, Mireille?" I asked.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, her voice breaking up. "I can't go on today."

"It's Valentine, isn't it? You're thinking about when she was murdered."

"No, not Valentine."

"What then?" I asked. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

She took a deep breath. "Sara, there's something I haven't told you."

"A secret?"

She nodded.

"The only secret I know of is that you read Paul et Virginie at night." I smiled, trying to lighten the mood, even though I knew her secret must be far graver than that.

"Not much of a secret, is it?" She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief.

"Nothing to be ashamed of. I've read it, too, and I'm sure a lot of the novices have. Back in Paris I read Les Liaisons Dangereuses. Now there's something the nuns would be really angry about, if they saw us reading it!"

Mireille attempted a smile beneath her tears. "That's a book I haven't gotten around to reading, even though Germaine de Stael told me how she loved it."

"You knew Madame de Stael?"

"Of course. Didn't I tell you she was the one who took Valentine and me to the opera? We used to go out together all the time." She took another deep breath. "No, I think I should tell you now. It's something that happened to me when I came back to France after I was in Algeria. You noticed I didn't tell you much about that time."

"You only said you hadn't stayed very long. Something happened to you then?"

She nodded. "Something horrible."

"Worse than seeing Valentine murdered?"

"Yes."

"But what could possibly be worse than that?"

She took another deep breath. "I will tell you. But I'm afraid you'll hate me." Then, shaking her head, she added, "Or perhaps not. Something you said when I was telling you about my adventures led me to hope that you might not. Otherwise, I wouldn't say anything."

"How could I possibly hate you?" I was starting to be frightened now, wondering what could ever make me hate Mireille. Even if she had loved Valentine like a lover, not a sister, I wouldn't hate her. But this was obviously something that happened after Valentine was killed. "Mireille, I could never hate you," I told her.

"You might change your mind once you know what it is. I hope you don't, but you might."

"Well, what is it?"

But at that moment I heard someone come into the library, and I saw Therese, Angelique, and Ursuline.

"There you are!" said Therese when she saw us.

"I should have guessed you'd be in the library," said Angelique.

"You're late for dinner. If you don't hurry, Sister Agathe will call you into her study and give you a demerit," said Ursuline. Sister Agathe was the most senior of the nuns of Montglane, and she was in charge of the abbey while the Abbess was away. We all knew Sister Agathe was very strict with her punishments.

After dinner, Mireille didn't seem upset any more, and I almost forgot she was about to tell me some horrifying secret. I noticed, though, that she seemed relieved not to have to tell me. I didn't ask her about it again. I figured that when she was ready to tell me, she would, and I didn't want to upset her unnecessarily.


	3. Chapter 3

Our lives continued in much the same way, with walks in the Pyrenees and Arabic lessons, and I didn't press Mireille about her secret. But it rankled in the back of my mind. Sometimes I thought about asking one of the novices, Therese, Angelique, and Ursuline, because they obviously knew it. But the secret was Mireille's to tell, and it would feel like betrayal if I asked the novices.

Then, one day, Sister Agathe asked Mireille to join her in her study. "I think she might have news of the Abbess," said Mireille. I will probably be in her study until dinnertime. So it looks like we won't have our Arabic lesson today. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," I said. "It's much more important for you to find out where the Abbess is. I can find something to do for myself."

I went to the library and noticed a pile of newspapers stacked on the table. I saw they were from 1793, and as I picked one up, the name of Marat leapt out at me from the page. I had always hated Marat, almost as much as Robespierre, who killed my family, and when I learned of Valentine's death at his hands, I hated him even more. I thought he was one of the worst monsters who ever lived. I picked up the newspaper and read the article, which was an account of Marat's death. "He deserved it," I thought. "If anyone deserved to die, it was Marat. And Robespierre, too," I added.

The article told me only what I already knew, or thought I knew: that Charlotte Corday had stabbed Marat to death in the bathtub, where he spent all his time to relieve the itching from the hideous sores he had from some dreadful disease. The murder had been political: Charlotte Corday had been a supporter of the exiled Girondins, the moderates in the Convention. My family had been Girondins, too. I could understand why Charlotte Corday had done what she did, but the consequences were terrible: her act had made a martyr of Marat, and led to the deaths of many of the Girondins, including my family, at the hands of Robespierre and his friends. If she had wanted to put an end to the Terror, she should have killed Robespierre instead, I thought. But I had felt very sad when she had gone to the guillotine. I hadn't actually seen her, though. I was too afraid to watch the processions of people going to the guillotine. If I had seen her, I would have known she looked like Mireille.

But then, when I put that newspaper aside and picked up another, I stared at the page in shock. I couldn't believe what I was reading. I sat there for a moment in horror, and then I closed my eyes, wishing the horrifying story would go away, or that it had all been a huge mistake. When I opened my eyes, though, it was still there. It said:

"We have evidence that Charlotte Corday was not the assassin of Marat. The real murderer was Mireille de Remy, an 18-year-old novice of Montglane Abbey, who bears a strong resemblance to Charlotte Corday. Mireille killed Marat in a confrontation over the pieces of the Montglane Service, a chess set which once belonged to Charlemagne and which is believed to hold a secret of great power. She acted to avenge the death of her cousin Valentine, who died at Marat's hands, also for the sake of the Montglane Service."

My stomach churned, and I could hardly breathe. It couldn't be! My friend Mireille had committed a horrible murder. I threw the newspaper to the floor in disgust and picked up the next one, hoping it would retract the story. But it didn't:

"Charlotte Corday, as we now know, did not kill Marat. She went to the guillotine in place of her friend Mireille de Remy, a novice of Montglane Abbey in the Pyrenees, who was the real murderer of Marat."

And every newspaper in the pile told the same story: Mireille had killed Marat.

I desperately fought to find a way it could not be true. Hoping against hope that the newspapers were making up terrible lies, I went over Mireille's story in my head, trying to place Marat's murder into what she'd told me, hoping she'd been elsewhere at the time. But no, the brief time she'd come back to France from Algeria coincided exactly with Marat's murder and Charlotte Corday's execution: July 10-17, 1793. Of course! That had been the secret Mireille was going to tell me, the one she was afraid I'd hate her for if I knew.

I felt sick to my stomach as I thought of Marat's murder and all that blood. Mireille, my best friend, had stabbed a helpless, sick old man in the bathtub. If she had killed in self-defense, I would have understood, but this was cold-blooded murder. I couldn't believe it of my kind friend, but I knew the newspapers weren't lying. How could I have been so deceived in her? I wanted to get out of Montglane as soon as I could, so I'd never have to see her again.

And then I heard someone come into the library. I hoped it wasn't Mireille, and I was relieved to see it was Therese. "There you are, Sara," she said. 

"You're late for dinner again."

"I'm not hungry."

Therese came closer and said, "You're as white as a sheet! Are you sure you shouldn't go to the infirmary?"

I hesitated. I was tempted to, and I certainly didn't want to go to the refectory where I would see Mireille, but I also didn't want the nuns to worry about me. I decided to make my arrangements to leave Montglane as soon as possible. So I followed Therese to the refectory. But as we left the library, she saw what I had been looking at. "So you know, then, about Mireille's brave act," she said. "She's our hero, you know."

"Brave? A hero?" I shouted. "She killed a helpless old man in the bathtub. A cold-blooded murderer is what she is! How can you stand living here with her?"

Therese looked shocked. "She avenged her cousin Valentine's death. You never knew Valentine, but they were closer than most sisters are. Mireille was absolutely devastated by her death. And she saved all our lives. Marat was going to come after all of us and send us to the guillotine, just for being nuns. And can you imagine what he would have done if he'd gotten his hands on the secret of the Montglane Service? None of us knows exactly what that is yet, but from what we've heard, whoever figures out the formula can control the world. Can you imagine would would have happened if the formula had fallen to that monster's hands? It could have meant the end of the world! She saved all of us. And you call her a murderer?"

I sighed. I knew all that, but still... "I understand, but what she did was murder, pure and simple. I can't condone that."

She shook her head. "After all her kindness to you, you're willing to believe the worst of her?"

"What else can I believe?"

"Do you see everything in black and white?"

I thought for a minute. "Perhaps I do."

"There are plenty of shades in between, you know. You just have to learn to see them."

"And what right have you to lecture me? You're younger than me."

"I'm not lecturing. I'm just stating the facts."

But by that time we had reached the refectory. I sat as far from Mireille as I could and refused to look her in the face. I could tell the nuns were surprised, because we had always sat together before. I found myself sitting next to Angelique, who asked, "Have you and Mireille quarreled?"

"Something like that," I replied. "I don't want to talk about it." Angelique shrugged and didn't say anything more during the whole meal. But I could hardly eat a bite, and I felt my stomach churning. I couldn't wait to get out of the room, and Mireille's presence.

As soon as dinner was over, I went to bed and pretended to sleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. I didn't want any of the novices to ask me questions, and, above all, I didn't want to see Mireille. Since I was not a nun or a novice, I didn't have to get up in the middle of the night to pray, and I had always been glad of that. Usually I got a good night's sleep at Montglane. But not that night. Although I pretended to be asleep, I didn't actually sleep at all. I kept thinking of the horrible murder Mireille had committed.

In the morning, as I heard the bell ring for Prime, I didn't want to leave my bed. I wanted to lie there all day. And then I felt a hand on my shoulder. I cringed as soon as I saw it was Mireille. Too disgusted to look her in the face, I turned over in bed and pretended to ignore her.

"Sara?" she asked. "What's wrong? Are you ill?"

I said nothing.

"Do you need to go to the infirmary?"

I ignored her.

"Don't you want your Arabic lesson?"

No reply.

"Or would you like to go for a walk in the mountains? It's a beautiful day."

I finally managed to growl, "Go away!" And I stayed in bed and didn't go to breakfast. My appetite had not returned, and I still felt sick to my stomach. 

But I knew I couldn't lie in bed forever. I had to speak to Sister Agathe and make my arrangements to leave Montglane as soon as possible. Did Sister Agathe know what Mireille had done? I wondered. She was so pious and so strict with the novices when they broke the rules, I coudn't imagine her condoning Mireille's act. But from what Therese had said, it sounded like everyone at Montglane knew-and approved. It was hard to fathom that.

Meanwhile, I had to start going to meals again, or the nuns really would send me to the infirmary. All I could do was sit as far from Mireille as possible and not look her in the face. But once I caught a glimpse of her face, and I could tell she looked puzzled and hurt. I was sure she wondered why I was avoiding her.

For the next few days, after she realized I wouldn't have anything to do with her, she spent her time helping the younger novices with their lessons. She was so patient with them, and kind when they made mistakes, it was hard to believe she was the same person who'd stabbed a man to death. And yet she had.

Then, one evening as we were leaving the refectory after dinner, and all the nuns and novices had gone to pray, she caught up with me. "Sara, why have you been avoiding me?" she asked.

I took a deep breath. "I found out about Marat," I said.

She nodded. "I thought so. That day in the library, wasn't it? You saw the newspapers?"

"Yes."

"I was going to tell you, you know. That time we were interrupted. You hate me, don't you?"

I saw tears well up in her eyes, but I couldn't help myself. "Murderer!" I shouted. "How could you have done such a thing?"

The tears were flowing down her cheeks now. "I didn't mean to," she said, her voice breaking. "Honestly, I didn't mean to kill him. But one thing led to another... I'll tell you what happened, if you'd like me to. It's painful to speak of it, but you need to know how it was."

"How could you not have meant to kill him? You brought a knife with you, didn't you?"

"To defend myself. After what he did to Valentine, I needed all the protection I could get."

"But he was helpless, in the bathtub." I felt my blood boiling. "You're a murderer! Go away! I don't want to see you again."

"You know, I hate myself for it. It's been two years now, but I still feel such overwhelming guilt."

"And you should. Killer!"

"Sara, I'm still the same person I was before you found out what I did."

"No, you're not the person I thought you were. Not at all. I'm going to leave Montglane so I'll never have to see you again."

With her face red, and tears running down her cheeks, she turned away and walked towards the dormitory. I waited in the library until I was sure she must have fallen asleep, before I went to bed.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, Sister Agathe called me into her study. "Sara, how could you be so cruel to your friend Mireille?" she asked.

"She's not my friend any more. In fact, I was going to ask you for permission to leave Montglane and go to another convent."

"If you wish to leave Montglane, that is your choice, and I have no power to prevent you. I'd be sad to see you leave, of course. But why the sudden hostility to Mireille?"

"Don't you know what she did?"

"Yes, I've known all along."

"About Marat?" I asked with disbelief.

"Of course. We all know that she killed Marat. She didn't want to tell you at first because you were new here and you were the only one who wasn't in on the secret. She didn't know how you'd take it. After you became such good friends, she was afraid of losing your friendship. And now it seems she was right." I saw a look of great sadness on her face.

"Do you mean that you've all known she's a murderer, and you've been protecting her all this time?"

"Yes, and we're proud of her."

"How can you be? You're supposed to be so religious."

"And what about forgiveness? It seems to me that's an important part of what we believe, too."

"I'd forgive her if she'd killed in self-defense, of course. But this was cold-blooded murder."

"Not quite. More like homicide in a moment of rage. Didn't I hear someone telling you not to look at everything in black and white, and to see the shades in between?"

"Yes, and I'm trying to learn. A moment of rage, you say? How do you know she isn't dangerous? What if she fell into a rage against one of us? How do you know she wouldn't do it again?"

"It's not like that at all. She loves us too much for that. Marat was the only one she ever hated enough to kill. And she didn't mean to do it, until the moment she did it. I was just talking to her this morning, before I called you into my study. She tried to tell you what happened, but you wouldn't listen. Why wouldn't you listen to her? I'm sure if you knew the whole story, you would forgive her."

I sighed. "I was afraid, I admit."

"Afraid of her?"

"Yes, or at least I thought so. But perhaps I was more afraid of knowing the truth."

"Because you thought you'd be condoning a murderer?"

"That's right."

"I know the whole story, and I could tell you now, but it's up to Mireille to tell you. Could you at least go back to her and ask her to tell you what happened?"

"Yes, I suppose."

"And don't be afraid of her. She would never hurt you, or any of us. You will find that what she did was completely justified. Also, I should let you know that she's always felt horrible about it. When she first came back here, she had nightmares, and hardly a night went by when she wouldn't wake up screaming. She still doesn't sleep well. Haven't you noticed, in the dormitory, that she often tosses and turns at night?"

I was a sound sleeper, and I admit I hadn't noticed very often. But once in a while, I did. And there were a few nights when I'd heard her scream. "I always thought it was because of Valentine."

"Naturally you would think so. And that's certainly part of it. But it's mostly because she feels such remorse about what she did. She shouldn't, though. I'm sure you know Marat was a monster. He killed thousands of innocent people, not just poor Valentine. If he'd lived, he would have had us all killed, because we are nuns, but also, in particular, because of the Montglane Service. As long as I've been here, I still don't know exactly what the secret of the Montglane Service is. I believe it is up to Mireille to find out. But it contains a secret of enormous, terrifying power. It is Mireille's responsibility--and all of ours, but especially hers--to keep it in the hands of those who would use it for good. Can you imagine what would have happened if that monster had gotten his hands on it? Horrors worse than you can imagine would have been unleashed into the world. Mireille kept that from happening. She saved countless lives. Not just ours, but the lives of all the innocent people who would have suffered and died if Marat had learned the secret of the Montglane Service. She's not a murderer. She's a hero and a liberator. We would all have done the same thing in her situation, if we'd had her courage. And I think you would have, too. Now, tell me honestly, weren't you glad when you first heard Marat was killed? When you thought Charlotte Corday did it?"

I nodded. "Yes, I was. But I knew Robespierre was the dangerous one. And of course I had never met Charlotte Corday. It's different, finding out it was someone I know... someone who's my best friend."

Sister Agathe's face looked very tender. "I understand. I'm sure it came as a shock to you. I think that's why you reacted as you did. And, from your point of view, you're right about Robespierre. They were both very dangerous, but in different ways. I know that Robespierre had your family killed. Now tell me, honestly, was there never a moment when you thought about killing Robespierre?"

I took a deep breath as I examined my feelings, and I realized, deep down inside me, that Sister Agathe was right. When my family was led to the guillotine, if Robespierre had been within my reach, I can't say I wouldn't have killed him. "I think..." I muttered, then made my voice sound stronger, "Yes, if I had been near him, I might have killed Robespierre. It's hard to say, because I never did get near enough to him. But I can't absolutely say I wouldn't."

"It was exactly the same for Mireille, after seeing Valentine die the way she did. And, believe me, she didn't know until the very moment she killed him, that she could do it. None of us really do, until we're in that situation. Now, do you think you can forgive her?"

"Yes, I know I can." In fact, I knew I already had.

"Will you go and talk to her? She's been ready to tell you the whole story for a long time now."

"Yes, I'll go at once. Thank you, Sister Agathe. You've made me see things in a whole new way."

"You would have come around, anyway, once you'd talked to her. The problem was getting you to listen. Now, I believe she's waiting for you in a particular spot in the mountains. The place where she likes to go and paint."

I took my leave of Sister Agathe and went to find Mireille.


	5. Chapter 5

I found her on top of the mountain where she often went to paint. She had her sketchbook with her, and she was drawing a beautiful landscape of the valley below. When I saw her there, she was so absorbed in her work that I didn't want to disturb her at first, but this was too important. "Mireille!" I called out.

She turned around. "Sara?"

I went up to her and took her hand. "Mireille, please forgive me for the cruel words I said to you. I've talked to Sister Agathe, and I see now that you were perfectly justified in what you did."

She put her sketchbook on the ground and squeezed my hand. "Do you really think so?"

"Yes. But, if you can, do you think you could tell me the whole story? I know it must be very painful for you to talk about it."

"It is. But you're right, I do need to tell you what happened. I've been meaning to for a long time. First, the time in the library when we were interrupted, and then later..."

"When I wouldn't listen."

"Yes."

"I'm so sorry I wouldn't listen that time. I was just in such shock, I was afraid to hear the truth."

"I understand." She took a deep breath. "I will tell you now. It will be very difficult, but this is what happened. First of all, you must know that I didn't mean to kill him."

"Yes, you told me that already."

"I meant to confront him about the pieces of the Montglane Service that he had in his possession. I bought a knife to defend myself, because I knew I couldn't trust him. After all, he'd promised to spare Valentine's life, and then he murdered her! But I hoped I wouldn't have to use it. In fact, I've always hated the sight of blood. I remember that day, when I went to buy the knife, I walked by some butchers' stalls, and I cringed at the sight of the blood there. I never thought I could kill anyone. In fact, when I was in the desert with Shahin, I had a hard time making my mark on my falcon, and Shahin asked me how I would have the strength to kill a man, if I couldn't even make my mark on a bird. I said I could never kill a man, but he said he knew I was going to kill Marat. He could smell the revenge in me. He said I spoke Marat's name in my sleep. But I thought he was wrong. I never thought I could kill Marat until the moment I did it."

She broke down and cried, and I put an arm around her shoulders. "I know you didn't mean to kill him, Mireille."

After she'd calmed down a little, she nodded and continued. "When I came back to Paris, I found out that five nuns of Montglane, who'd been entrusted with pieces of the Montglane Service, had been murdered, and their pieces were missing. I was sure Marat was behind it. Then Charlotte Corday came to visit me."

"Oh, yes, the newspapers said you were friends. What was she like?"

"Very strong and determined. I wish you'd known her. I wish I'd known her for longer, too. She and I looked so much alike. She was several years older than me, but we looked like we could have been twins. You see, the nuns had come to Caen, looking for her, before they were murdered. And she also came to Paris to confront Marat about it."

"Not for political reasons?"

"That might have been part of it. I don't know. But the murdered nuns were more important than that. Anyway, we agreed that I would be the one to confront Marat. She had made an appointment with him before, and she gave me her papers and agreed that I would give him her name when I went to keep the appointment."

"Why couldn't you give your own?"

"It was far too dangerous, because of what happened to Valentine. So I went to his house, and met his sister and his mistress there. They weren't going to let me in, but I shouted that I had information he'd want to hear, from Caen and from Montglane. Then he agreed to see me. He was in his bathtub, of course. He was hideous, with pustules all over him. I would have felt sorry for him, if he hadn't been the man who murdered Valentine. I kept thinking of that."

She shuddered, and I kept my arm around her. "It must have been horrifying."

"It was. So I went to confront him about the murdered nuns and asked him where the pieces were. He told me he didn't just have five pieces, but eight, and then he said I wasn't going to get out of there alive. So I pulled out the knife. He said I'd come to kill him. But even then, I didn't think I would. I still just meant to confront him."

"Could he have killed you, do you think?"

She shook her head. "He couldn't, but his sister and mistress could have. They were both big, strong women. But he kept taunting me, calling me an idiot and a coward, and then he told me he wasn't the one who murdered the nuns, but it was his ally in the Game, an enemy I didn't know I had. A woman named Catherine Grand. She's the White Queen in the Game."

"Catherine Grand? I don't think I've heard of her. Who is she?"

"I'm still trying to find out, exactly. But I know where she is now. I'm coming to that."

"If she's the White Queen, was Marat...?"

"The White King. Yes."

"So wouldn't it have ended the Game when you killed him? You would have checkmated the King."

"I'm afraid it's more complicated then that. The King is dead, long live the King, as they say."

"So there's a new White King now?"

"It would appear so, even though I don't know who it is yet. Anyway, he said he wouldn't tell me any more about the White Queen and the pieces until I told him what I'd done with the pieces I'd dug out of Jacques-Louis David's garden when the Terror began. I was so frightened by all his taunting that I told him they were in England. You see, I gave them to Talleyrand when he went there. And then he laughed at me and said she could get them."

"Catherine Grand? The White Queen? She's in England?"

"Yes, but I didn't find that out for certain until later. By that time, his sister and mistress were pounding on the door. He said if I was going to kill him, I'd better do it then. Sara, he wanted me to kill him! He even showed me the place where I should plunge the knife." Her voice broke, and I held her close.

"Mireille, if it's too difficult..."

She shook her head. "No, I need to tell you. At that moment, I thought of Valentine, and how he'd murdered her the last time I trusted him. I fell into a rage. I'd never been in such a rage before. Before I'd really thought about what I was doing, I plunged the knife into him. And then... all that blood... it was so horrible."

Tears flowed from her eyes, and she broke into loud sobs. I threw my arms around her and held her for a long time. "Oh, Mireille, it must have been horrifying for you. But he was such a monster. It wasn't your fault. You were very brave to do what you did."

"Do you really think so?"

"Yes, you were. Think of Valentine, and all those innocent people he killed, and all the others who he would have killed if he'd lived. You saved their lives, and you avenged the deaths of all the ones he killed. Especially Valentine."

"That's what the nuns keep telling me. But I've always hated myself, ever since I did it."

"Mireille, there's no reason for you to hate yourself. You're a wonderful person. Think how kind you've been to me, and to all the novices here. They all hero-worship you, you know."

"I know, and I don't deserve it."

"Yes, you do. And if you were a bad person, you wouldn't feel so horrible about what you did. Do you think Marat felt bad about all the people he killed?"

"I know he didn't."

"Of course not, because he was a monster. But you're a good person, and that's why you feel so bad about it. You have no need to feel bad, though. You were absolutely right to do what you did. I would have done it myself, if I'd had your courage."

"Do you really think so? You hated me when you first found out."

"Because it came to me as such a shock. I think if you'd been able to tell me the whole story the first time, when we were interrupted, I would have understood. It was finding out the way I did, from the newspapers, that upset me so much. And I've talked to Sister Agathe, as I said. She asked me if I would have killed Robespierre if I'd been near him after he sent my family to the guillotine. And I knew then, that I couldn't be sure that I would not have. Mireille, I don't think any of us know what we'd do in that situation, until we're in it. You said yourself, you didn't think you could kill him until the moment you did. And I think you were very brave to do it."

"Thank you. This means so much to me. I'm so glad we're friends again! But what did the newspapers say about me? I never actually looked."

"They said you murdered him in cold blood."

"I thought it might be something like that. And I think I know how that story got into the newspapers. I think it was Robespierre! He was an ally of Marat, and he found out I was the one who killed Marat. I'm still not sure how he found out, but he did. He turned people against me, including, I hate to say it, my guardian David."

"I'm so sorry David turned against you. Did he ever know you could paint so well?"

"No, but I doubt that would have changed his mind. I learned to paint from him, but I didn't start to paint seriously until I came back here. The nuns encouraged me, because they thought it would be soothing to me, and they were right. But it hurts, that David turned against me like that."

I saw tears in her eyes again. "That beast Robespierre! It was his fault, that he blackened your name like that. I wish I had killed him! Well, I'm glad he's dead now."

She nodded. "There's something else, too. Something else I feel guilty about. Charlotte Corday's death. She gave her life for me!"

"How did that happen? You said you looked very much alike."

"Yes, exactly. Right after I killed him, Marat's sister or mistress, I'm still not sure which one, knocked me down and hit me over the head. I was dazed for a while, and in a terrible state of shock, of course. Then they led me away to prison, in the Conciergerie. There was a trial, of course. They found Charlotte's papers on me, and thought I was Charlotte Corday. I couldn't contradict them, or the life of every nun in Montglane would have been in danger. So I was found guilty, and condemned to death, as Charlotte Corday. And then, just before I was about to be led to the guillotine, Charlotte came to visit me in my cell, disguised as a painter. She told me she was there to die in my place. I wasn't going to let her. I felt so horrible about what I did, I wanted to die. But then she told me... that I'm the Black Queen in the Game."

"You, Mireille? You're the Black Queen?"

"Yes. Look at the figure 8 on my palm." She showed me her hand. "Charlotte told me the Black Queen always has that mark on her. The Abbess had it, too, and she was the Black Queen before me."

"So the Abbess is dead, then?"

"No, she just retired from the Game and gave her place to me, not that I'm worthy of it."

"But you are!"

She shook her head. "It's a tremendous responsibility, and I've never felt ready for it, even if I were not... a murderer."

"You're not a murderer. I told you that before. I can't think of anyone worthier to be the Black Queen than you."

"I'm glad you think so. And my birthday is the fourth of April. So was the Abbess'. The Black Queen is always born on the fourth of April."

I smiled. "I was born on the fourteenth of April. Does that count?"

"No, I'm afraid not. Anyway, Charlotte told me all this, and I knew she was right, that I was the one who had to live. But I still feel terrible about letting her die in my place. She was a good person, and, as I said, I wish I could have known her longer."

I put my arms around her again. "Oh, Mireille, it wasn't your fault. There was nothing else you could have done."

"I know that, but I still feel guilty."

"Poor Mireille! You're so young, and you've carried so many burdens already. But you have tremendous courage. Never forget that. I wish I could help you more."

"You already have, just by being my friend. I'm so glad we're friends again!"

And just then, we heard the bells summoning us to dinner. We hadn't realized so much time had passed. We walked back to Montglane, arm in arm. The nuns and novices cheered when they saw us. "Mireille! Sara! You're friends again?"

"Yes, we are!" said Mireille. And she smiled for the first time since she'd told me her story. We sat down in our usual spots at the dinner table, next to each other.

As the days passed, we became closer friends than ever. It relieved her mind, that I knew her secret, and had forgiven her. And then one day, as we stood on the mountaintop where she loved to paint, and where she'd told me her story, she said, "Sara, I've had news of the Abbess."

"At last?"

"Yes, Sister Agathe just told me. She's had a letter from her. The Abbess is in Russia, as I thought, but she's in great danger. Did I tell you that the Empress of Russia, Catherine the Great, was her childhood friend?"

"Yes, you did."

"The Empress is close to dying. Her son Paul hates her, and as soon as she dies, he will send the Abbess to prison. I have to go to Russia to rescue her. But first, I must go back to the desert in Algeria to find my son Charlot and Shahin, because Shahin promised to accompany me in my quest. So, I hate to say it, I must leave at once."

"Just when we're friends again. I knew you'd have to leave sometime, but I wish it had not been so soon. Is there anything I can do to help you? Could I join the Game? I'd be a pawn, if I could help you."

"I'm afraid it's not so simple as that. You can't choose to join the Game. You have to be chosen."

"Well, can't you choose me?"

"I don't think so. I still don't know exactly how it works, but I think you have to be chosen from birth, as I was, with my birthmark, and the date of my birth being the fourth of April. Anyway, I think all the players have already been chosen."

"But still, I wish I could do something to help. I will miss you so much!"

"And I will miss you. But I would be honored if you would correspond with me. I will write as often as I can."

"I will be happy to correspond with you. And I hope you will rescue the Abbess, and that it's not too late."

"I'm afraid it will be. She's very ill."

"I hope she recovers when she sees you. And I hope you will discover the secret of the Montglane Service, and solve the formula. I know you will use it for great good. I hate to think what Marat would have done with it. When do you have to leave?"

"As soon as I can. But first, may I paint your portrait? I love painting landscapes most of all, but I've done some portraits of the nuns. I would like to paint yours, too."

"Certainly you may. I would be honored."

And so she sketched me that day, and turned it into a finished portrait, which still hangs in the library at Montglane, on the day before she left. On the day of her departure, we embraced, and then she gave me her Arabic books. "You can continue your lessons on your own, I think. You have made a lot of progress lately. Will you be staying at Montglane?"

"Yes. I doubt I will ever take vows as a nun, but I mean to stay here."

"I'm glad. Then I will send my letters here. And don't worry if you don't hear from me for a while. This quest is very dangerous."

"I know, but I'm sure you will survive, and live to solve the formula."

"I hope so. Farewell! Thank you for being such a good friend to me. You have helped me so much. I don't think I'll ever stop feeling guilty about what I did, but you've taught me to accept it, and to go on with my life."

"Mireille, there's no reason to feel guilty. You are a good person, and a good friend. I wish you all the best in your journey."

And so she left Montglane, and to this day she has not returned. But I know she is well, because she writes to me as often as she can. I learned, from her letters, that she came to Russia too late to save the Abbess, who died in her arms. Eventually, Mireille was reunited with Talleyrand, and on October 4, 1799, she gave birth to a daughter named Elisa-Alix-Sara. Elisa after Bonaparte's sister who'd been her friend during her stay on Corsica, Alix because it was the female form of Alexandre, a name that was common in Mireille's family, and Sara, of course, after me. Eventually she began calling her daughter Charlotte, after Charlotte Corday, but I was extremely honored that she'd named her after me, in part. And I know that I will never have a better friend than Mireille.


End file.
